Greetje
by AdelphaHighbrow
Summary: Post Season Two: Maggie begins to question whether she can continue to do journalism.


This first chapter was presented as a gift for Erin in an exchange so I must dedicate it to her. I recommend listening to Badfinger- Baby Blue to this chapter. This story is Maggie and Jim centric but Mackenzie will be playing a strong supportive role, I hope. Her relationship with Will is background, as is Sloan and Don's. Later chapters will become mature/explicit. No violence, just fornication.

* * *

"But if you ask me" – for the first time, she showed a fleck of humility in her presentation – "it's going to be Bergoglio." Only a fleck. The Maggie Jordan standing before them in the conference room now was similar to the one who sat there a year ago working on the Genoa story; similar, but not the same. That Maggie Jordan had been bitter. And that Maggie Jordan had been a highly-functioning alcoholic.

No one had seemed to notice her drinking but Jim. Of course, he had been the one taking the brunt of her anger. Somehow, that all seemed both long ago and very recent now. The woman pitching her own version of the coverage on naming the new Pope looked like that Maggie to him. She still refrained from wearing makeup. The office had adapted to her unpolished look which had, in the beginning, contributed to the view that she was perpetually tired. Now she just looked natural and clean. In the four months since her notorious haircut it had grown to a shaggy length that looked pleasingly wind-swept. She had adopted her authentic honey blonde colour again. It altogether complimented her round face and svelte frame.

At Mackenzie's encouragement, Maggie presented her case for why the conclave would favour the Argentinean cardinal. She listed her misgivings about Marc Ouellet to the room, making her case with little sentiment other than certainty. She stood straighter than before, enhancing the plucky grace that had always distinguished her. "I'm calling these the top four," she summarized.

"Has anyone else come up with the same guesses?" Mackenzie asked as she looked around the table. Kendra offered that she was only at the point of getting a list of all 115 electors, but hadn't narrowed it to likely contenders. Tamara knew that Ouellet and Scola were favourites, but didn't know much else beyond the countries they served in. "Alright, I want to see someone confirm what Maggie has found. Then we can go forward with the backgrounds of the likely picks," Mackenzie said.

"Well," Maggie added, still standing, "Once you do that, I have summarized biographies along with a blurb about why each are likely choices."

Jim sighed through puffed cheeks. Since the election in November, Maggie had exhibited a devotion to her work that soon graduated to presuming some of Mackenzie's. Her new work ethic had been evident since her return from Uganda, but had taken a religious turn in the past few months. She had become audacious with her superiors, initially impressing Mackenzie, but now visibly beginning to chafe her. Long gone were the days she would grab Jim's arm and plead for instruction after a misstep. In fact, she rarely seemed disposed to consult Jim at all. To her credit, she never _arrogantly_ brushed him aside when he looked in on her progress with a fact check or a search for a source. He could tell she wanted to. She answered his questions and followed his instructions. If she ever had other ideas about where her attentions should be when he set her to a task, she mostly kept it to herself. He could sense when she wanted to be insubordinate, but she had developed a talent for being brusque but deferential.

"And as I was saying about the top four, I have close family members for _all_ of them ready to give a statement in the event their relative is elected," Maggie continued. Now that was something.

"When did you get this?" Mackenzie asked, leaning forward on her crossed arms.

Maggie shook her head. "Over the last couple of days."

Mackenzie raised her eyebrows and nodded, deliberating something in her head. After that, she proceeded to budget the segments for the night with all of them and wrapped up the meeting. She had joined Jim in his initial apprehension on the subject, but soon after Maggie's "papal prep", the office started to become morbidly intrigued by the rituals involved in the selection of the new pontiff.

The days went by; she was just as tenacious about the North Korean missile story and the civil war in Syria. Yet it seemed that ever since the day she had given her pitch on the Pope her tenacity had been hampered by a meekness that seemed out of character. She was like a feral beast who had just been tranquilized by the zookeeper and was now amenable to being pet. Yes, it had Jim's attention now. Until the past month only cynicism had delivered her smiles. Now only wistfulness. He noticed her timidity when Neal and a staffer egged her into entering the pool for who would become Pope out of the top ten they (and eventually the other networks) were predicting. They made a chart on the white board with the bets next to all the names and the prize displayed at the top. She gave a shy smile when they showed her. He buffeted his musings on Maggie's appearance and her behaviour and thought of Hallie. He had a brilliant and beautiful woman who had for some reason deigned to grace him with her attention. Someone he took delight in talking to and receiving insights from. A woman who he was enjoying figuring out. It was a woman he was falling for this time and not a girl.

When the white smoke finally billowed out of the chimney of the Sistine Chapel, the office exhibited an anticipation that could be likened to consulting the Oracle in Greece. Will changed to his suit to head up the breaking news from Rome, and everyone took their places like actors in a play. When Tess announced "Bergoglio", first everyone who had placed bets made their respective cheers or groans. Maggie let go of the breath she'd been holding and smiled, almost imperceptibly, he thought, as she directed someone to pick up the statement from the new Pope's brother in Argentina.

She entered the control room and passed him to oversee what was being put up on the monitors. After weeks of dually invoking the pride and ire of Mackenzie, today was her day. She didn't gloat. She didn't try to make her role in the prediction and preparation for the story a bigger deal than it was. It wasn't assassination coverage, but it was still remarkable. There had been a lot of changes in world leaders as of late and she led ACN in the one in Rome. She smiled and thanked Charlie who congratulated her on her insight.

After it was over, and they were in the conference room again, Maggie went straight into her pitch about the latest in Syria and what the U.N. had to say about it. He packed up his things that evening and without affectation stopped by her desk to ask if she was going to go celebrate at Hang Chew's with all the people who bet with her. She was wearing a black long sleeved v-neck sweater, grey trousers, and her black combat boots. Her desk lamp cast the swept bangs framing her face in a soft glow. It all seemed so quiet- her whole presence. The look she gave him ... No, it wasn't allowed in. She smiled and ruefully offered him, "Maybe." He felt justified in telling her what a good job she had done and she smiled and nodded her thanks. There was nothing left to say. He left.

The next morning, he was one of the first back in the office. When he set his bag down on his chair, the small piece of paper on his keyboard caught his eye. He recognized her cursive instantly. He picked it up and stared at it for a long moment before the words sunk in; His heart fell into his stomach. Instinctually he turned around to see her desk. It had been cleared of everything save a small stack of packets and papers. He felt ill. He almost ran to Mackenzie's office and asked her if she knew anything about Maggie quitting. She had told no one.

Everything that happened next seemed to take place outside of him and everything he heard in the next hour he heard in a funnel. Two calls followed: to Lisa, who knew barely more than they did, that Maggie appeared to have moved out without telling her; and to Maggie's father using the number on the emergency contact sheet, and who supplied the most they were to get. "I'm sorry; I don't know where she is as of right now. I only know that she's safe and she is where she wants to be."

Jim was silent in the conference room when Mackenzie asked the staff if she had given any indication to anyone that she was leaving. All that Maggie had left them with was the work she owed them, a few leads she had been working on, her personal sources, and a list of interns she thought would make a good replacement for her.

The reactions ran the gamut of angry, hurt, and disbelieving. Jim hazily remembered observing the progression of emotions on Mac's face that day. She was mostly furious. Will was her calm and reason, expressing more of the concern they all felt. He couldn't remember how long the three of them sat in Will's office, trying to get a hold of her. The person who answered her phone appeared to be a homeless man who had asked Maggie on the street if he could use her phone to make a call the night before, only to be given it as a gift. Her Facebook profile had been deleted. Her ACN email held no clues. Mackenzie asked the IT team to leave the email account activated in case she logged into it, so they could trace her general location. Will asked how necessary that was, but his fiancée was hurt, and never one to accept a lack of resolution. And then everyone went back to work. Just like that.

The day passed, and people tittered about her disappearance, only to hush when Jim walked by. He glanced at her empty desk again and felt the Gordian knot in his chest. It took him until lunch to be able to pay any attention to Hallie's texts. He found himself looking for moments of privacy to pull that folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. He read it again and again. It wasn't her rushed, sloppy print that got handed off to him when she found last-minute talking points for the show. She had written this final word with a smooth hand.

He thought of the last time he saw her, there last night at her desk with the artificial yellow light from her lamp brushing the side of her face, augmenting her appearance of melancholy. She was gone. He wanted to crumple the note and throw it in the trash. Instead he folded it up and put it in his wallet. The shape of every letter was still there with him even when it was out of sight.

_See you around, My Love  
X_


End file.
